


Guilty

by temporalgambit



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 08:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12553008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalgambit/pseuds/temporalgambit
Summary: Matt knows exactly when to put the brakes on.





	Guilty

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:
> 
> "maybe an exhausted Shiro with a cold who refuses to rest until his caretaker (personally i like matt but you can make it whoever you like) forces him to sit down and rest and maybe they end cuddling on a couch while he finally gets some much needed rest?"

  
_Nobody said Garrison life would be easy._

That has been the mantra running through Shiro’s head since… _Friday? …Saturday? Does it even matter?_ The past week is all just a giant haze, classes and papers and practicals all muddled together like a series of blurry photos he barely remembers taking. He’s accustomed to the usual cold or two around this time of year, but with exams coming up there’s no time to indulge the childish desire to stay curled up in bed until it’s over. A moment’s hesitation is all he allows himself before the mantra pulls him out from beneath the covers, forces him to his feet, and drags him down the hall to the communal bathroom.

He shivers in the cool air as he undresses, stepping under the scalding water with a sigh of relief. Thankfully he’s the only one in the room, because his relief is short-lived as the steam from the shower loosens something in his chest—setting off a painful series of hacking coughs that leave him gasping in between.

He’s completely breathless and dizzy by the time they let up—leaning against the wall for support until the black spots clear away from the edges of his vision. The slightly looser feeling in his chest isn’t worth it, he decides, because now he’s twice as tired as he was before.

It’s gonna be a _long_ day.

Stepping out of the shower and re-dressing feels like a nearly insurmountable task, but he manages somehow. It’s with a slight grimace that he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Even with the color the shower brought to his cheeks, he still looks like hell. His nose is chapped beyond belief from blowing and blowing (to no avail), and his lips are cracked from breathing through his mouth all night. The bags under his eyes are almost impressive in how well they convey his state of being without a single spoken word.

Even his _expression_ looks miserable, as if he can’t seem to remember how to make a normal face. An experimental smile is somehow even worse.

Resting sick-face it is.

Though he has virtually no appetite, he meets up with Matt for breakfast—there’s no sense in breaking routine, after all. He attempts a cup of applesauce while Matt makes amicable chatter about some class or…something. He’d lost track of the conversation a while ago. Shiro _knows_ he ought to be making more of an effort, but he’s jut so…so…

A sneeze catches him off-guard, and he has to jam his face into the crook of his elbow to catch it, then another one, then _another_ one… He sniffles wetly, digging in his pocket for the crumpled package of tissues Matt had gifted to him yesterday.

For his part, Matt pulls a mock-horrified face at the sound of Shiro unclogging his sinuses. “They _do_ allow sick days, you know,” he offers, tone lighthearted, “for this exact reason, I’m pretty sure.”

“I know, but it’s so c—”

“—Close to exams, I know. You said that yesterday. And the day before.” He pauses. “But you’re not getting any better on your own.”

“If I’m not any better by tomorrow, I’ll—”

“—Go to the infirmary, I know. You said _that_ yesterday too.”

Shiro groans, letting his head thump against the table. “We spend too much time together.”

Matt snorts, patting his back affectionately. “But where would you be without me?”

“True.” He lifts his head so he can stifle a few coughs into a closed fist. A glance at the time reveals nearly a half-hour has passed. “Are you working through lunch again?”

Matt nods. “Professor Wilson makes me crazy, but she’s so _sure_ Reggie’s project is gonna be the best thing since sliced bread, that I kinda wanna—” he makes an indiscriminate gesture with both hands “—you know?”

“You get ‘em, Matt,” his voice is pretty pathetic, but the sentiment is there.

“Yeah!” He nods enthusiastically. “So I’ll be up to my eyeballs in robotics all afternoon. Think you can survive until dinner?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

* * *

Shiro would say that classes drag on, but that would be implying that he actually _remembers_  some of what went on in each and every one. He learned that gravity causes the human body to…something…while antigravity causes problems with the…something else?

Somehow he feels like he’s actually _lost_ knowledge.

By the time dinner rolls around, Shiro feels like he’s underwater. The pressure in his head and ears and behind his eyes pulses with each heartbeat. He’s scrubbed his drippy nose beyond tenderness, and his throat isn’t faring much better from coughing. He’s sweaty and freezing and exhausted and _he still has so much to do_.

So when Matt catches him at the entrance to the cafeteria and softly suggests that they go back to the dorms instead, Shiro couldn’t possibly feel more grateful.

Matt opens Shiro’s bunk door with ease, and Shiro doesn’t even realize he’d been leaning on him until he’s being gently lowered to sit on the bed. “How did your—” he wants to ask, but he suddenly can’t remember whatever it was that Matt had been talking about earlier, “—thing go?” he finishes lamely.

“My robotics project? We don’t present those until next week.”

“Oh.” Speaking of which… “Could you hand me my laptop?” he gestures over to the precarious pile of books on his desk, atop which the computer is perched.

“No way.”

“Tha—wait, what? Why?”

“Because you’re—” Matt makes a frustrated noise.

“I know, but I’m just—” he makes futile grabby motions towards the desk. “Come on, Matt. I have a paper to write. And Kaspyck assigned an extra online lecture for us to take notes on, and I need to review my Astrophysics presentation, and I—” he chokes, the rest of his thought buried under a fit of harsh coughing.

“What you _need_ to do is relax,” Matt’s tone is chastising, but he moves to rub Shiro’s back anyway. He tugs the comforter off of the bed and wraps it around his would-be patient’s shoulders. “Let’s pretend there’s nothing going on and watch a movie instead, alright?”

Every duty-bound monitor in Shiro’s head screams _no_ , but the warmth of Matt’s hand on his back suddenly seems a thousand times more important.

“Okay.”

Matt’s whole expression brightens, and somehow Shiro feels he’s made the right choice.

They’re fifteen minutes into _Kiki’s Delivery Service_ when Shiro jolts awake, embarrassed to find he’s already dozed off on Matt’s shoulder. Matt only smiles.

“You don’t want to watch Kiki, do you?”

Shiro flushes. “No, it’s not that—”

“Don’t you know that it’s the story of a young girl who—”

“—I—I know what it’s about—”

“—and she _finds herself_ through—”

“—Matt, can you—”

“—and you don’t even _care_ about her _journey_ , I can’t _believe_ —”

“—please just—”

Matt _bursts_ out laughing. “It’s okay. I’ll fill you in later.”

“I’ve seen it a thousand t—”

“ _Shhhh_ …I _said_ I’ll fill you in later.” And with that, he’s pulling Shiro down to rest his head in his lap.

Shiro _would_ argue further, but he can’t keep his eyes open. He’s exhausted. But he’s also warm, and comfortable—more comfortable than he’s been all week.

And with Matt by his side, he finds that he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty.


End file.
